


If the Chance Came By

by speakpirate



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, Femslash, McHastings - Freeform, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: “Spencer?” The sound of her own name surprises her, but not as much as the sight of Paige McCullers standing in front of her.She leafs fruitlessly through the voter registration lists for the Caucus. She’s not even sure what she’s looking for. None of them are going to be helpfully marked :Knock once if your best friend’s ex-girlfriend lives here! Knock twice if you’ve falsely accused this voter of murder.





	If the Chance Came By

**Author's Note:**

> _Happy Pride Month! My goal for June is to take a lot of the partially complete stories that have been hanging around in my docs for ages and finish them. Because done is better than perfect and the world needs more femslash. Here is another McHastings, because Paige saving Spencer on the train while dressed in that ruffled shirt and crushed velvet tux is the true #relationship goals._

The wind is kicking up, just as Spencer Hastings is knocking on her ninety-third door of the day. The forecast said to expect rain this afternoon, but for now it’s just blowing the hot air around.

Spencer sighs. Another long day of putting on a friendly smile in the face of pit bulls and Evangelicals. Iowa City is important. They need to get out the college vote if Senator Duckworth is going to have any kind of chance in the Caucus. 

So what if her shirt is sticking to the small of her back and her arm is sweating profusely underneath her clipboard?

Heat is temporary. Democracy is forever. 

She’s on the outskirts of town, waiting on the sagging porch of a slightly dilapidated blue farmhouse colonial. There’s a pick up in the driveway with a faded Hillary sticker on the bumper. 

“Spencer?” The sound of her own name surprises her, but not as much as the sight of Paige McCullers standing in front of her. 

Spencer has given versions of her prepared spiel on doorsteps from Des Moines to Decorah, but all she can come up with in this moment is a stunned sounding, “Paige. Hi.”

Paige opens the screen door. Her hair is shorter, and she’s wearing a pair of jeans with rips at the knees and a sleeveless Hawkeyes Athletics tank. There are moving boxes scattered across the living room floor behind her.

“Is everything okay?”

“Oh god,” Spencer says. “No. I mean, yes. Everything’s fine. It’s not anything creepy or Rosewood related. I’m canvassing. For Senator Duckworth.” 

“Oh,” Paige replies, looking relieved. “Good.”

“Sorry,” Spencer tells her. “I’m so used to talking to strangers, it threw me a little to see a familiar face.” She leafs fruitlessly through the registration lists. She’s not even sure what she’s looking for. None of them are going to be helpfully marked : _Knock once if your best friend’s ex-girlfriend lives here! Knock twice if you’ve falsely accused this voter of murder._

“I didn’t know this was your house.”

Paige nods. “It’s a fixer upper, but it’s mine. I just moved in last week.”

“Oh. Um - have you decided who you’re going to caucus for?”

Paige laughs, and Spencer flushes in a way that isn’t about the sweltering temperature, exactly.

“Why don’t you give me your speech inside?” Paige asks, motioning for her to come in.

Spencer sits on a box and drinks the iced tea Paige pours for her gratefully. She’s halfway through her pitch about the Senator’s military service when Paige interrupts. 

“How is everyone?”

Everyone who isn’t Senator Duckworth. Everyone meaning everyone back home. Everyone being Emily.

“Fine. Everyone’s fine. Married. Two kids. Probably out shopping for a white picket fence as we speak.”

“I have a white picket fence,” Paige points out, gesturing outside.

Spencer looks out the window. “So you do. I guess it’s not such -” 

“Such a hollow world, after all,” Paige finishes.

Her glass sweats pleasantly in her hand.

Spencer only realizes that she’s lost track of time when she notices how dark it’s gotten outside.

Then she hears the rumble of thunder, the first drops of rain lashing against the windows.

“You can stay here,” Paige offers. “Wait it out.”

“Sounds good,” Spencer agrees. 

The rain is torrential outside. And inside as well, as the living room ceiling starts to drip. 

“The roof isn’t the greatest,” Paige says, as Spencer moves boxes out of the way while Paige gets a pot from the kitchen to collect the water. 

They troop upstairs to check the damage and see that the carpet in one of the bedrooms is already soaked through.

“Do you have a tarp or anything?” Spencer asks.

“There’s an old pool cover in the basement.” 

Spencer surveys the damage. “We could go out there. Try to staple it down.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t,” Spencer tells her. “It was my idea.”

Five minutes later, the rain is stinging her face as she helps Paige spread the plastic sheeting over the worst of the deteriorating shingles. 

Spencer holds it down as Paige tacks the corners and secures the seams.

They’re soaked to the skin and the roof is treacherous. Paige’s foot slips as they head back towards the ladder. She struggles to regain her balance until Spencer intervenes, a firm hand under her shoulder to steady her.

They lock eyes and for a moment it feels like the two of them are alone on the edge of the world.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, shaking them out of it.

Once they’re back inside, Paige starts digging through boxes as Spencer goes upstairs to check on the effectiveness of their impromptu patch job.

“It’s holding up,” Spencer announces, just as Paige appears in the doorway with a pile of towels and sweats.

“You probably can’t wait to get out of those clothes,” Paige says. 

Spencer raises an eyebrow, suggestively.

Paige blushes. “Oh, I didn’t mean -”

Spencer puts a finger over Paige’s lips and starts unbuttoning her wet shirt.

“I did.”

\--------------------------------------------

It starts small. Spencer coming over after work a few nights a week, ostensibly to lend a hand with pulling up the old carpets or knocking down the cracked beige tiles in the bathroom. 

They’re not dating. They’re renovating.

Sometimes she brings take out. Sometimes Paige makes dinner on the grill.

They talk about the gender dynamics of The Illiad while refurbishing the hardwood in the dining room. Discuss whether or not Amber Victorino’s new church qualifies as a cult while they’re updating the kitchen cabinets. Paige is a little more idealistic in her politics than Spencer is, which leads to some good debates as they tear the rotting planks out of the back steps. 

The projects they tackle are usually dirty and labor intensive. Sometimes they shower together afterward, the steam rising in clouds around them. Or they fall together on a paint-splattered drop cloth because Spencer can’t resist the flex of Paige’s bicep as she carries scrap lumber out to the yard. 

On Saturdays they stroll through the aisles of the architectural salvage holding hands and drinking large cups of coffee. Paige looks at light fixtures and french doors while Spencer focuses on crown molding and wall sconces.

Spencer negotiates on the prices with the volunteer at the desk until they get everything they wanted, plus a porch light, for twenty percent less than the marked price. They load their haul into the bed of Paige’s truck.

“I can’t believe you haggled him down that much,” Paige remarks.

“I can’t believe you would have paid retail,” Spencer replies, as they load their haul into the bed of Paige’s truck. “You’re lucky you have me.”

“I know,” Paige says, kissing Spencer across the bench seat of the truck.

\-----------------------------

After the first month, Spencer leaves a toothbrush on the sink in the upstairs bathroom.

At two months, she stops thinking about New Hampshire.

Three months in, Spencer realizes this is the point when she usually starts looking for a reason to leave. She looks around at Paige, at what they’re building. She doesn’t find one. 

After four months, she bites the bullet and tells Emily.

“What about Paige?” Emily asks vaguely. She’s absorbed in potty training drama. Her tone is distracted, as if Paige is someone she barely knows. A former coworker. The niece of the old neighbor lady across the street.

Spencer feel oddly annoyed.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

“Uh-huh.” The sound of tiny footsteps and squealing are loud in the background. Emily is smack in the middle of her new life. The old one doesn’t matter at all.

“We’re together, Em. For a few months now. I really like her.”

“Oh.”

“Please say something. I don’t want this to be like Caleb.”

“She’s much hotter than Caleb,” Emily says, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice.

She lets out a sigh of relief.

“I feel like things are working. We’re good together.”

“Yeah,” Emily says, thoughtfully. “I can see how you would be.”

\---------------------------------------------

The leaves are changing and they’ve just finished hanging the porch swing.

Spencer is swinging slowly back and forth as it starts to rain.

Paige brings a quilt outside and they huddle underneath it, listening to the water drum against the new roof. 

Spencer stares out at the yard, which looks scrubby and barren now that the colder weather is here.

“We still need to work on the landscaping,” Spencer says, leaning her body into Paige’s side.

“Next year,” Paige says.

Spencer raises an eyebrow. They haven’t talked about it, but Spencer’s quietly posted for a position as the regional director at the Cedar Rapids campaign headquarters. She’s not going to New Hampshire or South Carolina or anywhere but here.

“Oh,” Paige says, a little flustered. “I didn’t mean -”

Spencer stops her with a kiss. 

“I did.”


End file.
